


All I Want for the Holidays Is You

by merelypassingtime



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Music, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28065141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelypassingtime/pseuds/merelypassingtime
Summary: Clint obligingly took the last name in the hat.Unfolding it he read the name,Bucky.Crap. What was he supposed to do with that?When Clint draws Bucky’s name for the Avengers holiday gift exchange, he struggles to find the perfect gift.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 45
Kudos: 107
Collections: Winterhawk Wonderland - 2020 edition!





	All I Want for the Holidays Is You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> In my heart, the title of this story is "All I Want for ~~Christmas~~ the Holidays Is You,” but AO3 doesn't let you strikethrough a title. Alas.  
> My contribution to Winterhawk Wonderland exchange for the lovely Flowerparrish. The prompts were Fluff, Pining, and Holiday music. I did my best to incorporate all three. Hope you enjoy. :)  
> And, once again, all the thanks in the world to CruciatusForeplay for betaing this for me!

_December 1st_

Clint was only ten minutes late to the team meeting, which was practically a personal best. 

Of course, it was less impressive than it could have been. Kate and Lucky were out of town on a ‘mission’ that Clint heavily suspected had more to do with teaming up with Miss America than actual do-gooding, so he’d been staying at the Tower instead of in Brooklyn. Why wouldn’t he? It was free, there was a great shooting range, and, unlike his apartment, the hot water always worked.

The only real disadvantage was that when Steve gave him his ‘you disappointed America’ look as he slipped into the conference room, he couldn’t blame traffic or critical coffee shortages or the Russian mob like he usually did when he was late.

Instead, Clint did his best to ignore Steve as he took the chair next to Nat, delighted to see that it already had a steaming cup of coffee in front of it. As he sat, Nat twitched the corner of her mouth down in her own version of a disapproving look that was considerably more effective than Steve’s.

Clint tilted his head slightly to the right and up in a combination acknowledgement and apology, and Nat lifted her shoulders in a shrug of forgiveness. 

When Clint picked up the coffee, he smiled a thanks at Nat, but she just shook her head and nodded towards the back of the room. Following her gesture, Clint was surprised to see Bucky sitting at the end of the table, looking stony and forbidding in the way Clint knew meant he was feeling uncomfortable. 

Bucky didn’t get to sit in on briefings very often, mostly because he was still officially being detained as a hostile enemy operative. That had made sense at first while Bucky had still been struggling through all the crap Hydra had left in his mind, but it had been months now and Bucky was more himself every day. No one in the Tower actually still believed he was a threat anymore, not even Tony, who had the best reason to still be nursing a grudge.

In fact, probably the only person who still considered Bucky a threat was Bucky himself, and he took the responsibility of keeping himself away from any sensitive information very seriously. That meant Steve must have dragged him to this briefing against his will for some reason.

Interesting.

Clint furrowed his eyebrows at Nat in a question, but she shook her head to tell him she didn’t know why Bucky was there but she was going to find out.

Before Clint could reply, Tony arrived in a flurry of movement dragging his new intern behind him like a distractible border collie. Steve frowned at that, but they had all given up weeks ago on Stark not bringing the intern to everything, so he just clearly his throat and said, “Now that we’re finally all here, let’s get started.”

Clint took a sip of his coffee and tried to pay attention to the briefing. He also made sure to keep track of the large window that looked out over the city; bitter experience having taught him to be wary whenever they all gathered together.

After twenty extremely dull minutes, Clint was wishing someone would attack already. Beside him, Nat had the unfocused air that looked like she was planning the murder of everyone around her, but that actually meant she was bored and counting things in the room to keep herself still. 

Curious, Clint glanced over at Bucky and found his blank look had evolved into a full out death glare too. He wondered if Bucky was doing the same thing as Nat. Watching how his eyes were steadily tracking along the ceiling tiles, he thought he probably was.

When Steve finally said, “...and that’s all we have for official business.” Clint tried to hide his sigh of relief.

“Just one more thing,” Steve continued, and this time Clint didn’t hide his sigh. He wasn’t the only one either, but Steve ignored them all.

“As team building this year, we’re going to do a holiday gift exchange.”

“You mean a Secret Santa?” Tony asked.

“No,” Steve corrected him. “This is a nondenominational holiday exchange since not everyone on the team celebrates Christmas.”

Like people watching a tennis match, everyone instinctively turned back to Tony. He didn’t disappoint.

“Are you, Captain America, declaring war on Christmas?” Tony demanded, peering over the top of his glasses at Steve.

It was Steve’s turn to sigh, but before he could reply, Tony’s intern did.

“Being respectful of other people isn’t declaring a war, Mr Stark,” he said.

Tony opened his mouth, no doubt to argue more, but it only took one look at the intern’s painfully earnest face for him to shut it again. “Fine.”

 _Fuck,_ Clint thought, he was going to learn the intern’s name and make sure he came to all the meetings.

From the surprised and pleased look on Steve’s face he was thinking along the same lines, but all he said was, “Great! Then if there aren’t any other objections,” he paused, and when no one said anything, continued, “I have a hat here with everyone’s names in it. We can take turns drawing a slip.”

“A hat?!” Tony squawked. “What is this, like the dark ages or something? Jarvis can-”

“No,” Rhodey interrupted him. “You’re not going to have a chance to rig the drawing.”

“Besides, the hat right here,” Tony’s intern added earnestly.

Tony huffed dramatically, but again said, “Fine.”

Clint started to hope Tony would adopt the intern and be this well behaved all the time.

“Okay,” Steve continued, “so we’ll draw a name and give that person a gift that costs less than fifty dollars.”

Clint raised his hand at that. “I vote we do a gift that’s less than one percent of the giver’s total income. That way Tony can get me my own tropical island.”

“You know those aren’t as fun as you’d think,” Tony said wistfully.

“Besides,” Sam added, “that would mean whoever you draw would get like a package of ramen with a purple ribbon on it.”

All innocence, Clint asked, “You think I could afford a ribbon?”

Beside him, Nat snorted. She alone knew that Clint was probably the second or third richest person in the room, and Clint liked it that way.

“Fifty dollars or less,” Steve said firmly. “And the presents need to be labeled, wrapped, and put under the tree before the holiday party. That’s when we’ll hand them out.”

“That’s only two weeks away!” Sam objected.

“You need more than two weeks to get a single gift?” Rhodey asked.

“I do a lot of my shopping online so you have to add in shipping time.”

“What are you getting online that you’re too ashamed of to buy in person?” Bucky asked from his corner.

Everyone turned towards Bucky, who’d been largely forgotten up to that point, except Clint, who burst out laughing.

“Yeah, Sam,” he asked. “Does all your stuff come in discreet packaging with the batteries sold separately?”

“I hate you all,’ Sam said.

Steve raised his arms to get their attention again. “And on that note, I guess I do have to say please keep the gifts workplace appropriate.”

Behind him Bucky rolled his eyes and Clint saw more than heard him mutter, “Killjoy.”

Steve pretended he didn’t hear him. Holding out the battered baseball hat, he said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Clint hung back while everyone drew slips, making a game of guessing who they got. His hopes for drawing Steve and giving him a box of Captain America condoms and a card wishing him a safe, sane, and consensual winter season were dashed when Tony drew a piece of paper, then immediately looked gleefully up at Steve. The others were harder to read, but he thought Rhodey drew Sam and Nat drew Tony. Sam didn’t bother looking at his slip, so Clint couldn’t guess anything from his face, and, of course, Bucky was as impossible to read as ever.

Finally, when it was only him and Steve left, Clint stepped forward and reached into the hat for one of the remaining slips. Before his fingers closed, Steve grabbed the piece he’d been aiming for. Clint glared at him, but obligingly took the last name in the hat.

Unfolding it he read the name, **Bucky**. 

Crap. What was he supposed to do with that?

_December 14th_

It wasn’t that Clint had forgotten the looming gift exchange, he very much hadn’t, it was just that he didn’t have any idea what to get Bucky.

Well, that wasn’t altogether true. Since Bucky had come to the Tower, Clint had spent a fair amount of time with him, and actually had a lot of ideas for things he would enjoy: weapons, books, board games, novelty tee shirts Bucky would never wear but that would make him do that adorable half smirk that made Clint’s chest feel tight. It was just that none of those ideas seemed right for an anonymous gift exchange. They all felt like the sort of thing one would get a boyfriend, and he wasn’t dating Bucky.

Bucky was funny, gorgeous, sweet, and caring. He deserved something perfect for his first post-Hydra gift, not something with weird stalkery overtones from a human dumpster like Clint. Clint just had no idea what that perfect thing would be, and now it was the day before the party. He was getting desperate.

That was how he’d found himself crawling through the air vent towards Bucky’s apartment, planning to break in and take a quick look around for ideas. Just like any reasonable person would do.

Of course, Clint couldn’t even get that right. 

He was only a few feet from the vent into Bucky’s living room, when he started to pick up the sounds coming from it over the background buzz of the air rushing through the duct, and it wasn’t until he was close enough to actually see into the main room that he recognized it as Christmas music.

Scanning the room, he found that contrary to his plans, Bucky was home, standing in the kitchen and measuring something into a bowl while swaying in time with the music.

Clint hesitated, torn between admitting defeat and crawling away to buy Bucky a gift card or waiting for Bucky to leave. 

Bucky made the decision for him.

“Hi Clint,” he said, clear and loud over the music.

Clint sighed in resignation and pushed the vent cover open, dropping into the room.

Casually, he said, “Oh, hey Bucky. Whatcha up to?”

“Baking.”

“Clearly. I just usually see you at the range at this time of day.”

Bucky shrugged. “Yeah well, not much point going to the range if I don’t have anyone to shoot against. I thought you were supposed to be out on a mission with Steve and Sam.”

“It got canceled at the last minute. Guess they decided to give peace a chance or something.”

“How boring.”

“That’s what I said!” Clint exclaimed. “I tried to talk Steve into letting us invade anyway, but he got all huffy about it.”

“Funny how a world war will sour a guy on invading neutral countries,” Bucky replied dryly.

“Ah, Bucky, no. Not you too! There go my evening plans.”

“Is that why you popped by? To see if I happened to be here instead of at the range and in the mood for conquest?”

“Well, I mean, I’m always hoping to find you in the mood to make a conquest,” Clint started with a fake leer, then remembered he’d promised himself he wouldn’t flirt with Bucky anymore. “Um, but no. I was going by when I heard someone being tortured and thought I’d make sure you were okay.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Tortured?”

“What else could make all this horrible noise?” Clint asked.

“You mean the music?”

“Is that what you call it? It sounds like torture to me.”

“But, I thought you said pop music was your favorite.”

“No,” Clint corrected. “I said that good pop is the pinnacle of musical achievement, and I was right. But this isn’t pop, this is Christmas music, which is a whole different thing. Christmas music is pure evil and I hate it with an ever-burning passion.”

“Why?” Bucky asked. “Christmas songs are so cheerful.”

“Maybe the first few hundred times you hear them, or if you don’t strongly associate them with screaming children and customers.”

“Okay, I completely had the wrong picture of what working for Shield was like.”

“Asshole,” Clint said, smacking Bucky’s shoulder, which was rather like what he imagined smacking the Berlin wall would have felt like. “It wasn’t when I was at Shield, it was when I was a kid. There’s not a lot of work for carnies in the winter, so I spent them working at a variety of quality retail outlets, and every single one of them played Christmas music non-stop from late October to early January. It was hell.”

Bucky nodded, then said towards the ceiling, “Hey Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir,” the AI answered immediately.

“Would you mind changing the music for us?”

“Of course, sir. What would you like to change it to?”

“How about some good pop music? Something from the eighties, maybe.”

Clint grinned at Bucky. “That’d be awesome.”

Bucky stared back, his face a little dazed, then he blushed and quickly looked back down at the mixing bowl. 

Before Clint could wonder what that had been about, Bucky cleared his throat and asked, “So, are you gonna stay and help me with these cookies?”

“Maybe,” Clint said. “Depends on what kind of cookies they are.”

“Chocolate chip.”

“I guess that’s acceptable, but peanut butter would have been better.”

“Why would you bother with a cookie that doesn’t have any chocolate?” Bucky asked.

“That’s why you put a Kiss on top.”

“How would kissing the top help?”

Clint didn’t have to entirely fake his dismay as he demanded, “You’ve never had a peanut butter cookie topped with a Hershey’s Kiss?”

Bucky shook his head no, still looking puzzled by the idea.

“Wow,” Clint said. “I knew Hydra were dicks, but that’s low.”

“And they never once gave me pizza or coffee either,” Bucky said with mock solemnity.

“That’s it. I’m writing them an angry letter, tying it to an arrow, and shooting it straight into their heads.”

“Seems only fair.”

“With an exploding arrow head.”

“Messy,” Bucky commented, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“No chocolate and no pizza for years? They deserve to clean up a mess.”

“You forgot about the coffee.”

“Oh, yeah. For that I’ll kill them all for you,” Clint said, realizing too late that he’d sounded serious and that offering to kill people probably wasn’t something normal people did.

Bucky only rolled his eyes, though as he turned away, Clint caught him smiling small and pleased.

“Maybe we can do that tomorrow,” he said lightly. “Tonight you’re gonna help me with these cookies.”

“Geesh, first no invading countries, now no murdering Nazis. Today sucks,” Clint sighed theatrically, even as he went to the sink to wash his hands. “Besides, I can’t tomorrow either, we have the big holiday party.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky said, without enthusiasm.

“Not looking forward to it?”

“Looking forward to it being over so Steve will stop carping about Tony for five minutes.”

“The two of them lay off one another? That would take a full fledged Christmas miracle.”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow, “You mean a holiday miracle?”

“It might take both. And make a little New Year’s luck too.”

Bucky snorted. 

“Okay,” Clint said, holding up his freshly washed hands like a surgeon about to perform an operation. “What can I do to help?”

“Get out the cookie sheets.”

“Right,” Clint said, opening the cabinet next to the oven where Bucky kept them. Without being told, he grabbed the roll of parchment paper from the drawer and started covering the sheets.

Pretending to focus on tearing the paper to exactly the right length, Clint asked as casually as he could, “So, who did you get in the gift exchange?”

Most people would have missed the quick flick of Bucky’s head, as if he wanted to look up from the batter he was mixing but caught himself, but Clint didn’t even if he wasn’t sure what to make of it. 

Still looking down, Bucky said, “Pretty sure that’s not how an anonymous exchange is supposed to work.”

“So, you must not have gotten me, or you’d be pumping me for ideas.”

“If I was going to pump you, it wouldn’t be for gift ideas.”

Clint laughed, “Is that so? Well, now I’m sad you didn’t draw me, because I know what I’d ask for.”

Again, Bucky’s head tried to jerk up but didn’t. “I’m pretty sure Sam drew you, should I try dropping that hint to him?”

“God no!” Clint said with a shudder. “No offence to Sam, but I’d rather he got me a sensible sweater or something.”

“As long as it’s purple, right?”

“Naturally,” he agreed, then gestured at the perfectly lined trays. A good eye for spatial relations was better for more than just shooting stuff after all. “Okay, what now?” 

Bucky came to stand next to him, their shoulders brushing. “Take the dough and form it into balls, like this.”

“Balls this time?”

“Yeah, I read that it’s supposed to keep the centers soft and chewy.”

“Sure,” Clint said, drawing out the word. “You can just admit that you wanna watch me handle your balls.”

“Can you blame me?” Bucky asked.

“No, I am awesome at it.”

Clint tossed the ball he’d just finished into the air and caught it neatly in his other hand even as he reached for the ball Bucky had finished, juggling the two in large lazy arcs.

Bucky laughed and tossed him a third ball as soon as he’d finished shaping it, which Clint caught and easily incorporated it in.

Four more balls and Bucky was looking thoroughly impressed. “How many do you think you can juggle at once?”

‘I don’t know,” Clint admitted, “I used to be able to do an even dozen, but it’s been a while. Wanna find out if I still can?”

“You know, as tempting as that is, no. I don’t want to have to explain to Tony how I got cookie dough on the ceiling.”

“Just make it sound like you were doing something kinky.”

“No, knowing him, he’d want details.”

“Nah, he’s a genius. He’d demand a demonstration.”

“Of your incredible ball handling skill? I think I’d rather keep that all for myself,” Bucky said, his voice dipping into a low, possessive growl.

Clint almost fumbled one of the bits of dough, but managed to turn it into a passable toss back to Bucky, who caught it and put it on the baking tray.

“Well,” Clint said, feeling awkward and more than a little turned on, “if anyone asks me for gift ideas for you, I’ll tell them juggling is the way to go.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, even as he held out a hand for Clint to throw him another ball of dough. “Trying to get the conversation back to the gift exchange? Why? You get someone tricky and are hoping I’ll trade with you?”

Clint cursed internally. He used to be pretty good at interrogating people, even under pressure, but apparently, a bit of flirting from Bucky was enough to knock him off his game. 

Trying to mask his embarrassment, he put on an overtly flirty voice and drawled, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Bucky easily matched his tone. “Only show you? Where’s the fun in that?”

“If you want more you gotta buy me dinner first.”

“I just might.”

Luckily, Clint had just set the last ball down on the parchment paper, if he’d still been juggling, he might have gotten dough on the ceiling after all. Bucky sounded a lot like he meant that.

Before Clint’s brain turned back on, Bucky placed a newly formed ball on the baking tray next to his, filling it. He said, “Okay, this one’s done, let’s get it in the oven.” and the moment passed.

Clint ended up spending the rest of the evening with Bucky, eating cookies, listening to eighties music, and losing horribly at Scrabble.

It was nice, but didn’t really help him with gift ideas, or with the growing crush he wouldn’t admit he had. Crawling back through the vent to his room, he dejectedly concluded that he was going to have to get Bucky a gift card after all, maybe for one of those fancy kitchenware stores.

Clint dropped back out of the vent in the corner of his living room, carefully cradling the tupperware container full of cookies Bucky had sent him back with. 

Habit and his rarely used common sense made him scan the room for anything out of place, like, for example, a chair moved just a few centimeters from where he’d left it and now occupied by a deadly Russian assassin. 

Clint rolled his eyes and ignored Nat to head into the kitchen area. There he started the kettle for tea and opened up the tupperware to set a few cookies out on a plate.

It wasn’t until the tea and cookies were set in front her that Nat moved, reaching to grab a cookie.

She gave it a speculative look before taking a bite and nodding. “Very soft. How is Bucky?”

“Too damn good at Scrabble, let me tell you,” Clint grumped. “He managed to put ‘quizzed’ on a triple word score tile.”

Nat snorted. “You know there’s only one z in a Scrabble set, right?”

“Oh, that bastard! Just for that I’m gonna make him play Trivial Pursuit: Pop Culture next time.”

“Do you think you would win? You don’t know anything about pop culture unless it involves Dog Cops.”

Clint shrugged, “Okay, hurtful but fair. What game could I beat him at then?”

“You’d have a fifty/fifty chance at CandyLand.”

“CandyLand?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s a game for small children that I think even you could manage.”

“Oh, I know what CandyLand is, thank you very much. The question is how do you?”

Nat let her gaze go unfocused, as if she was reliving unspeakable horrors. “You don’t want to know.”

Clint was mostly sure she was kidding, but he didn’t press just in case.

“So, if you’re not here to trade gaming traumas, what does bring you here in the middle of the night?”

“Pity,” she answered.

“Oh?” Clint asked, keeping his expression politely interested even as his hope flared.

“An idiot could see you still haven’t got Barnes a gift and the exchange is in less than eighteen hours.”

“You know I work best under pressure.”

“Okay, then I guess you don’t need my help,” Nat said, making as if to stand up and leave.

“No!” Clint replied, putting a hand on her arm to hold her in place. “Of course I need your help. I always need your help.”

Nat looked satisfied and settled back into her seat, grabbing another cookie.

Clint sighed in relief. “What have you got for me and what’s it going to cost?”

“Ballet tickets.”

“Ballet tickets?”

“Ballet tickets,” Nat repeated. “A company I know is putting on The Nutcracker and I have two tickets to next Saturday’s performance.”

“And Bucky likes ballet?”

“Yes,” Nat said, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Why? What's wrong with ballet?”

“Nothing, of course! Wait, are you saying he dances like you do?”

Whatever the opposite of haunt was, that was what the image of Bucky in tights was going to do to his dreams.

Nat quickly dashed his hopes. “Not that I’m aware, but he was sent on a mission where I was infiltrating a company to act as my control. He was supposed to stand backstage during all the performances and watch me for mistakes, but he always watched the show instead. It was the only time I really saw his eyes look alive. At least until he met you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll figure it out,” she said with an insufferable smile.

Clint sighed and didn’t take the bait. “Fine. What are the tickets gonna cost me?”

“You have to cat sit for me for two weeks.”

“When did you get a cat?”

“I didn’t say it was my cat.”

Clint almost asked whose cat, but didn’t. It would be more fun to try and figure it out himself anyway.

“Deal,” he said

Nat finished the last bite of her cookie before nodding sharply. Without a word she faded into the shadows, leaving two tickets on the counter behind her.

Clint finished his own tea more slowly while he examined the tickets and tried unsuccessfully to stop thinking about Bucky’s thighs in tights.

Finally he gave up, and checking the time on his phone, he found it was almost midnight.

He got up to find his coat and go shop for a card to hold the tickets. 

_December 15th_

Tony had made it clear that festive dress was not optional for the party. Steve had glared at Tony then made it just as clear that there were no dress requirements. 

Clint sorta hoped the both of them would fuck or fight out whatever their problem was out before the new year.

Still, it gave him the opportunity to choose who he wanted to annoy more for the evening; Tony by going in his ratty sweats and a tee, or Steve by going full elf for the occasion.

He was still debating when he got out of his post workout shower to find an outfit laid out on his bed, one he was ninety-five percent sure hadn’t come from his wardrobe. 

There was a sweater in muted violet and lavender chevrons, a pair of tan pants he suspected might be chinos but didn’t know enough about pants to be sure, and a lovely purple velvet santa hat. 

He was actually a little surprised that Nat hadn’t picked out his socks and underwear too. Then he picked the sweater up and found them stacked neatly under it.

“Gee, thanks.” he said with all the sarcasm he could muster just in case Nat was watching. Then he stomped over to his closet.

He ended up settling on a red plaid flannel shirt over a white tee shirt and a pair of jeans that were a little torn but not stained. 

And the purple santa hat, because it really was really nice and so soft.

When he stepped out of the elevator and into the thoroughly decorated common area, Clint made sure to cast a defiant look at Nat. She only smirked back.

“Robin Hood,” Tony called out. “You finally decided to join the rest of the merry men.”

When Nat turned a cold look on him, Tony quickly amended, “And merry ladies.”

Nat didn’t stop her glare.

“Merry women?” he hazarded.

Nat reached for one of the more obvious knives he was wearing and Tony corrected himself again, “Merry deadly, terrifying assassins.”

Nat nodded and relaxed, taking a sip of her wine. 

“Oh, thank God, you weren’t kidnapped again,” said a harried looking Steve.

“Hey!” Clint objected. “I’m not kidnapped that often, and I’m not that late.”

Across the room Bucky held up his phone for Clint to see. Over the picture of Bucky gloating after he’d beaten Clint’s high score at the range for the first time that Bucky had set as his lock screen the current time was displayed in bold, accusatory numbers.

“Oh. Oops, I am that late. Sorry.”

“Well, you’re here now, so we can get this party started!” Tony said.

He ran toward the huge tree that had been dominating the center of the room since the day after Thanksgiving and pulled out a huge box wrapped in red, white, and blue.

“Tony,” Steve sighed. “You know the gifts are supposed to be anonymous.”

“And you know that literally none of them are going to be, right?” Tony retorted, handing him the package. 

“Fine, but at least hand out everyone else’s while you’re there.”

“No,” Tony said, “open yours first.”

“Not until everyone has their gift.”

Tony’s intern, whose name, Clint had learned, was Peter, cheerfully said, “I’ll hand them out for you Mr Stark.”

“No that’s not-” Steve started.

“Too late!” Tony interrupted him. “Peter’ll take care of it. Now open yours!”

With more than a little trepidation, Steve opened it and held out a pair of leggings that looked exactly like the ones he wore as Captain America.

Turning them over carefully, as if expecting an explosion, Steve said, “Thanks?”

“Don’t thank me yet. These are special pants, made out of vibranium reinforced kevlar, bulletproof up for almost anything up to an artillery round.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s very thoughtful.”

“Yes well,” Tony added mischievously, “I’ve been reliably informed that an increasing number of bad guys will be aiming for your legs because your shield is the size of a dinner plate and you’re an idiot.”

About half the people in the room snorted, including Clint and Bucky. Steve was not one of them, and Clint was torn between wanting to be there when Steve was introduced to that Vine and hoping he never would be.

Confused, Steve said, “I guess that’s good intel, but, an idiot?”

“Their words, not mine. Sorry Cap, but the good thing is now you’ll be protected.”

“Yes, thank you anonymous gift giver,” Steve said pointedly.

Tony said something snarky back, but Clint missed it because right then Peter picked up the bright green envelope Clint had placed as conspicuously as possible under the tree, not even twelve hours ago. As Steve and Tony continued to bicker, Peter walked the card to the far corner of the room where Bucky was sipping tea and brooding on the sofa. 

“Here is one for you, Mr Bucky, sir,” he said, then retreated quickly back towards the tree as Bucky scowled down at the card.

Clint hid his grin, knowing that the exasperation was caused by the way his name was written in glittery bubble letters on the envelope. He’d very nearly addressed the card in the beautiful, slanting calligraphy that nobody ever expected from Clint, but in the end, he’d decided he couldn’t pass up how awesome the already slightly ridiculous name Bucky would look in silver and gold glitter cartoon writing. 

It had clearly been the right choice, he thought as Bucky rolled his eyes before tearing the envelope open. Clint held his breath, suddenly overcome by the nervousness he’d been fighting all day, hoping he’d made the right choice on the card too.

Bucky glanced at the front, which featured a cartoon of Santa Claus Clint had doddled over to give a shiny metal arm and dark, shoulder length hair. There was a woman sitting on the Bucky Claus’s lap and he was asking her what she wanted for Christmas. 

When Bucky flipped the card open, he almost dropped it in surprise as it began playing a tinny cover version of a pop song Clint had come to particularly hate during his retail years. Inside there was a picture of the woman clearly meant to be singing the lyrics, “All I want for Christmas is you!” Clint had crossed out Christmas and written over it “the holidays” then under that he’d added, “to have a great non-denominational festive season!” hoping for plausible deniability on the card’s clearly romantic meaning.

Bucky read the card as the horrible song continued to play, then glanced at the tickets paperclipped to the front. He smiled, then looked up directly at Clint.

Clint caught his breath at that look, so soft and happy and hopeful. 

The moment was broken by Steve. “Well Bucky, what did you get?”

Bucky took another second before refocusing on Steve and answering laconically, “Tickets.”

“To a ball game?” Sam asked.

“No, to the ballet.”

“Huh” Steve said. “I didn’t know you liked the ballet.”

Something behind Bucky’s eyes seemed to drop like a shutter and his face slipped back into blank neutrality. With a shrug, he said, “Music and dancing, what’s not to like?”

He slipped the card back into its envelope, and turned pointedly to where Peter was standing with the next gift in hand.

Peter handed the box to Rhodey and the exchange moved on. As soon as the attention wasn’t on him, Bucky met Clint’s eyes again and gave him the smallest smile. Clint smiled back, relieved to know Bucky had liked his gift.

The rest of the gifts were opened and polite thanks were given. Nat got a sweater that was almost the twin of the one she’d left for Clint, only in black and red and Clint briefly regretted not wearing his so they could be twins. He was sure that had been Nat’s intention all along.

Then, as things were wrapping up and Clint’s mind was turning to all the food laid out in the kitchen area, Peter handed him a small box, saying, “And the last one’s for you, Mr Hawkguy.”

Clint let the name slide, a bit because he liked Peter, a bit because the tag genuinely said, ‘Hawkguy’, but mostly because somehow, in all the stress of trying to think of something to give Bucky, he’d never thought about receiving anything himself.

He stared dumbly at the package in his hands as if he’d never seen a gift before. 

It wasn’t far from the truth. He hadn't gotten many gifts in his life, not all wrapped up and everything. The only person he’d been close enough to for gift-giving since he was a kid was Nat, and her gifts tended to just appear, like the sweater had.

The gift was lightweight and about half the size of a shoebox, square with rounded corners and what felt like a clasp on one side. He squeezed it gently and felt the box flex a little, proving it wasn’t solid but still too firm to be cardboard.

Puzzled, he looked closer at it, and for the first time noticed it was wrapped in Dog Cops wrapping paper. Embarrassingly, he felt a lump form in his throat, overwhelmed by emotions he couldn’t name.

Luckily, right then Sam spoke up. “Geesh, Barton. It’s probably not a bomb.”

“You can never be too careful,” Nat said.

“Nah,” Steve replied. “I already opened the one from Tony.”

“And it didn’t explode at all,” Tony said proudly

Wryly, Rhodey added, “Yet.”

“Whatever,” Tony said. “Open your present already, Hawkguy.”

Clint did, carefully working the tape loose so he wouldn’t tear the paper and sliding out an old fashion metal first aid box.

The gathered people laughed.

“Well, that fits,” Tony commented.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Somebody knows Barton, that’s for sure.”

It stung to be reminded that no matter how hard he worked, he was forever branded as the clumsy one of the team, but Clint put on a smile as he flipped the catch on the box to open it.

Instead of the expected medical supplies, it was packed with peanut butter cookies, each topped with a Hershey’s Kiss, and nestled in the middle was a gift certificate for a pizza place in Brooklyn he liked, one he’d been threatening to drag Bucky to for ages.

His heart gave another funny twist as he realized that his gift had to be from Bucky. He also realized that he was softly gazing at what everyone assumed was a bunch of bandages when he noticed how quiet the room had gotten.

Pulling his wide, insincere grin back on, he closed the box with a click and refastened the clasp. “Sorry. Just taking a quick count so I can recalculate my bandage budget for the month.”

There was another round of laughter, breaking the tension. Slowly people started moving around, gathering up torn wrapping paper or heading into the kitchen area to grab a drink or a snack from the counter.

Clint stayed sitting on the floor, running the tips of his fingers over the cool metal of the box as he watched them. 

He wasn’t surprised when Bucky plopped down next to him.

“Thanks for the tickets,” he said with no preamble.

“A little birdie told me you might like that.”

“I bet it was actually a little spider.”

“Might have been,” Clint admitted. “Though I did wonder there for a second if she might have steered me wrong,” he added with a hint of a question.

“Oh, no. She was right, I love the ballet. It’s one bright memory I have from being the Winter Soldier. I just can’t talk about that with Steve, he’s not really comfortable hearing about anything that happened to me during that time.”

“Yeah,” Clint agreed. “Everyone but Nat sorta likes to gloss over the parts of my past where I was a crook and an assassin too, but they’re still all a part of me.”

Bucky nodded. “Handy to have someone around who can understand stuff like that.”

Looking to lighten the mood, Clint joked, “Yeah, not everyone can understand the appeal of ballet.”

“What’s wrong with ballet?” Bucky demanded with every bit as much indignation as Nat had.

“Nothing! Or at least nothing I’m aware of. I can’t actually say I’ve ever seen one.”

“Would you like to? Because I sorta have an extra ticket to a show on Saturday, if you’d like.”

Pretending to consider it, Clint said, “Depends. Are you gonna let me take you out to dinner first? ‘Cause I happen to have a gift certificate for a pizza place pretty close to that theater.”

“Weird coincidence, isn’t that?” Bucky asked.

“Yes. And we’re not gonna admit anything else, or Nat will be insufferable.”

“Agreed. It’s a date.”

Clint’s heart lodged in his throat, but he managed to sound cool as he asked,“A date? Like an actual date?”

“Unless you don’t want it to be,” Bucky added hastily. “If you’d rather just be friends-”

“No!” Clint said a little too loudly. Softer, he repeated, “No, that’s great! I’d love it to be a date.”

Bucky grinned. “Good, me too.”

For a moment, they smiled awkwardly at one another, neither sure what to say next. Finally, Clint opened his box again and offered, “Cookie?”

“Those are all for you,” Bucky objected, even as he took one.

“Maybe, but I need to make sure they aren’t poisoned or anything. After all, I have it on good authority that Sam drew my name, and who knows if he can bake.”

“Sam did draw you, but I might have traded with him.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you guess?” Bucky asked with a look Clint couldn’t fathom, but that made him blush.

To cover his confusion, Clint guessed, “Because you couldn’t think of anything to get Nat.”

“Or maybe I got her a really nice knife, but then I wanted to keep it for myself.”

“You got a knife and didn’t give it to me? Rude.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “I knew I could buy you off with cookies.”

“And the medical box?”

“Isn’t chocolate the best medicine?”

“I think that’s laughter,” corrected Clint.

“Well, there was plenty of that in these cookies too. Or there was in the batch I made before this one.”

“Wait, the cookies you were making last night, they were for me?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, “but then I heard tell that you liked this kind of cookie better.”

Clint bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s. “Aw, you didn’t have to make a whole ‘nother batch just for me.”

“I didn’t mind. Besides, I wanted it to be perfect.”

“It is,” Clint swallowed, then took a risk. “Though, I can’t imagine anything that involved a kiss from you being anything but perfect.”

“Before our first date? What sorta guy do you take me for?” Bucky asked, even as he was leaning towards Clint.

“The best kind,” he answered definitively and closed the remaining distance, finally kissing Bucky.

His lips were soft and warm and tasted just a little like peanut butter cookie.

It was perfect. 

_December 24th_

It had taken less than a week for Clint and Bucky to get mistletoe banned throughout the Tower. 

Bucky hadn’t noticed when the little sprigs disappeared overnight, but Clint had and had decided that meant they had won, though he couldn’t say what exactly they’d won at.

Either way, the lack hadn’t stopped them from kissing every chance they got. Chances like now.

There hadn’t been a formal group night planned for Christmas Eve, but somehow most of the team had found their way to the common area anyhow. Tony was sprawled across a corner chair fiddling on a tablet, while Nat knitted on one end of the big sofa and Steve sketched on the other. Bucky and Clint had been playing dominos until they’d mutually decided kissing was more important. They cuddled together, their mugs of coffee forgotten next to them and ignoring everyone else.

When Clint’s hand strayed up under the grey and red sweater that had mysteriously appeared on Bucky’s bed that morning causing him to gasp, Tony broke the otherwise peaceful quiet. With a loud sigh directed at Clint and Bucky, he demanded, “Do you two have to do that right here?”

“Yes,” Bucky replied with hardly a pause, making Clint giggle into the next press of his lips.

“No, you really don’t,” Tony said. “In fact, I’m making a new rule: no gross PDA in any of the public spaces.”

“That would include the shooting range,” Nat added pointedly.

Steve chimed in, “And against the wall in the stairwell.”

“And on the roof,” Tony said.

Steve said, “And definitely in the 102nd floor bathroom.”

“Hey!” Clint objected. “That one’s your own fault, Steve. Bathrooms are meant to be private.”

“The _stalls_ are, but you guys weren’t in a stall.”

“Not that time,” Bucky said with a wicked grin. 

Steve grimaced. “Yeah, you know, I’m liking this new rule more and more.”

“You’re all just jealous,” Clint sniffed.

Steve immediately said, “No.”

Nat shuddered and agreed, “Not even a little.”

“I see how it is,” Clint said. “I thought Christmas was the season of warmth and love for all mankind, but I guess not.”

“Maybe we’ll take ourselves somewhere private, where our happiness won’t offend anyone,” Bucky said, making like he was about to stand up.

Tony threw up his hands in surrender. “Fine, no rule against PDA.”

“Yes!” Clint said, knowing they’d won again.

“Now will you two stay?” Tony asked. “The night’s still young and we haven’t even broken out the eggnog and gingerbread yet.”

“That is if you two can keep yourselves apart long enough to eat anything,” Nat teased.

“I do like gingerbread,” Bucky admitted, settling back down next to Clint.

“Great!” Tony said. “Let’s put on some music and get the party started!”

“Christmas music?” Nat asked, glancing over at Clint.

Snuggling deeper into Bucky’s arms, Clint smiled back at her. “It’ll be fine. It’s sorta growing on me.”


End file.
